A Shark in Calle Ocho (7 page)

Bob handed her a box of tissue.

“I read that some druggie was taking a joyride in an ambulance. Your son ran a red light and a large truck sideswiped him.”

“You’re only half right,” she said through a tissue, her hands shaking now. “They were transporting a shipment of drugs in the ambulance.”

“
What?
” Bob said, leaning toward Mary Catherine.

“You see, no one will believe what I’m about to tell you,” she said, increasing the intensity of her glare. “The entire ambulance company is a drug trafficking cover-up.”

“Wait, do you mean Care Ambulance Service is hauling drugs?” Bob asked, falling back into his chair and exhaling.

“They’re hauling drugs all over Florida and the southeastern United States.” She took out a pack of cigarettes from her purse. She’d stopped the nasty habit years ago but had recently taken it up again to calm her frazzled nerves. “Do you mind?”

“Under the circumstances, I guess not,” Bob said with raised hands, hoping it wouldn’t trigger an allergic reaction. But he noticed how her hands shook as she lit the cigarette, and how frail she looked. He felt sorry for her and wanted to help. “Isn’t Care a non-profit organization?”

Mary Catherine snarled, her hatred showing in her expression.

“Only on paper. It’s as much a non-profit as I am an impoverished senior. The non-profit status is only a cover-up. What’s funny is they just won a humanitarian award.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bob said. “The story was on the page facing my story.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Bob not knowing what next to do or to say. Mary Catherine scrutinized the so-called bounty hunter, wondering if he could really do the job. Bob finally broke the silence.

“You still haven’t told me what I need to do for you.”

“Anthony LaCruz is president of Care Ambulance Service. Of course he’s also responsible for the drug trafficking and the death of my son. He’s known as Shark in the underworld and is one of the most powerful men in southern Florida—especially in the Cuban community.”

“Okay,” he said, starting to worry about where this conversation was going.

“No, Bob—it’s not okay. My son is dead, and Shark is still out there hurting people,” she said, taking a final drag of her first cigarette and lighting another. The smoke was starting to choke him. “I need you, Bob.”

There was another long moment of silence. Bob was starting to sweat, even though the room was cool.

He fidgeted in his chair, cleared his throat and said, “Okay”—all that he could manage.

“I need you to prove to the world that Care Ambulance Service is trafficking drugs. I need you to ruin the Shark.”

“Why me? I’m just starting out as a private investigator and bounty hunter. I’m new at this. I don’t have the experience. I can’t.” His hands were on his head now, with fear, frustration and confusion all coming together in one mangled emotion.

“No one else will.” Mary Catherine started sobbing, throwing her cigarette on the floor and covering her face. She sobbed uncontrollable sobs for a few minutes, and Bob looked on, not knowing where to go or what to say. Finally she removed her hands, her makeup now ruined. “You’re it. He doesn’t know you. You’re new in town. Everyone else told me they can’t get too close to the Shark because he’s surrounded by henchmen. You must help me. Money is no object. Matter of fact, I brought you something.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a check and put it on the table. “This is an advance. It’s half of what I’m willing to pay you. I’ll give you the other half when you complete the task I want you to do.”

Bob looked at the check for a moment. It was lying face down. He’d have to touch it to see how much it was. He reached for it, but before his hand got to the check he looked at Mary Catherine. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Yes, you can. Get your check.” It was almost a command.

Bob grabbed the check and flipped it over. Fireworks went off in his brain as he read the amount out loud: “Fifty thousand dollars.”

“That is your advance.”

Suddenly, Bob was overcome by a wave of self-assurance.

He looked up with a smile and said, “Again, Miss Tenish, what can I do for you?”

“I need pictures; I need documentation. I need hard evidence about what they’re doing,” she answered with renewed energy. “When you have this evidence, you must go to the papers. Shark owns the police department. Give the politicians a black eye. That’s what they understand. Bob, they must go down—and it’s up to you.”

Bob looked at the check again and took another deep breath.

“I guess I’m your man.”

With that, they both stood and shook hands.

“I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Bob.” Mary Catherine turned and left as Bob followed her to the door and watched her walk down the hall.

Miss Garza poked her head out the door.

“Bob, do you think she’s on drugs?”

“No, Miss Garza,” he said.

“What does she want you to do, Bob?” she asked.

“Nothing, really—just take down Miami’s most powerful drug lord.”

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, slamming the door. Bob could hear her picking up the phone and calling her Little Havana “network.”

Bob banged his head on the door jamb and said, “My sentiments exactly, Miss Garza.”

***

Shark was particularly relaxed today in Domino Park. A tropical storm was brewing over Cuba, hitting the small community hard, and it had sent a charge to the atmosphere around Little Havana and Miami. Shark loved the weather here, particularly the violence of a tropical storm. He smiled in satisfaction when he saw Mary Catherine enter the park. She seemed to be walking with more of a swagger. That was good—he was getting tired of the tears and snot. She needed to be on the top of her game for this trip.

“Mary Catherine, how are you doing today?” he asked, looking up. She seemed to have recaptured some of her elegance.

“I’m fine,” she said, looking down at Shark. In her mind, she felt relief knowing that her plan to bring this man to his knees was in the works. She had faith in Bob. He was her only hope.

“Please sit down,” he said, motioning to the chair across from him. She sat down obediently.

“We are now set up for the shipment,” he said in a hushed tone, sitting up and looking into her eyes. It was all business, no more pleasantries. “The diamonds are stuffed in South African artifacts, which are packaged in wooden crates. There are only about a dozen crates, so you should just have to take a midsized plane.”

“Size doesn’t matter to me,” she said boldly.

Shark noticed this and stared hard at her.

“Fine. You will leave tomorrow in time to get to Port Nolloth for dusk. Hector and three more of my associates will accompany you.”

“Hold on,” she said loudly, slamming her arms on the table. Several players at neighboring tables looked up. Realizing she was too loud, she said softly, “I didn’t know I was going. I had plans.” She was lying about the plans. She was just nervous about being with Shark’s henchmen and having to travel to such primitive parts of the world.

Shark smiled.

“Now you know. When boss lady goes, all the employees act better. Right?”

Mary Catherine cursed him under her breath.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.”

“That is what I want. When you get there, go directly to Ayize. He will have the merchandise—and give him this.” Shark pulled out a thin metal suitcase and placed it on the table. “Don’t open it. You probably guessed what’s inside.”

“Of course—I’m not stupid,” she said, fiddling with her right ear—a nervous habit, and a sign of her greed.

Shark noticed it and added, “Don’t try to steal from me, Mary Catherine. Hector will be watching, and he doesn’t mind killing an old lady.” He paused. “After he tortures her.”

Mary Catherine could feel the blood rise to her face.

“I have no intention of stealing any of your dirty money and filthy—”

“Hold on, Mary Catherine. Remember—you’re a lady,” he said. “And one other important note. This is some of your investment money also.” This made her seethe, but she controlled herself. Years ago, Mary Catherine and Shark had met at a benefit for Little Havana’s art league. She’d just lost her husband and was lonely. The handsome, charming Cuban had swept her off her feet. Soon they’d become close friends, and she found herself learning about his secret business and becoming a key investor in his dreams. In the last six months, she’d spent many nights awake, wishing she’d never met the snake.

“Why do I have to carry the money?” she asked.

“Simple—I don’t trust Hector either,” he said. “So you will be watching Hector and Hector will be watching you. If one of you messes up, one of you will get hurt.”

Mary Catherine reached for the suitcase.

Shark grabbed it with his right hand and said, pointing a finger at her face, “Remember—Hector will be watching you.”

Mary Catherine said nothing, just stared coldly at Shark. She stood.

“Hector and my associates will meet you at the airport at 8:00 a.m. Do not be late.”

Without replying, she turned around and walked away. Shark watched her leave the park, unaware a bounty hunter was trying to take him down.

Chapter Seven

As he drove to the Care Ambulance Service headquarters, Bob thought about his private investigation course and decided he should have studied harder. He remembered thinking at the time,
It’s just a minor. When will I ever need to know anything about investigating?

“Wrong,” Bob screamed out loud.

After he deposited the check, Bob’s plan was to drive to the Care Ambulance headquarters to get a feel for the place. There was one problem that he kept turning over in his mind: How was he going to get in the inside? Surely they wouldn’t just let him waltz right in—especially if what Mary Catherine had said was true.

His thought was interrupted when the newspaper on his front seat was swept to the floorboard when the wind caught it. Looking at the paper, Bob grinned.

“I’m going undercover,” he said aloud. “They won’t let Bob the bounty hunter in, but I bet they’ll let Bob the freelance journalist in.” He laughed and started singing “Secret Agent Man.” It blended in nicely with the Hispanic music coming over the beauty queen’s radio.

Bob pulled up to the impressive three-story building. To say the least, he was impressed. Glass all but covered the front face of the building, with accents of dull orange. The front lawn was manicured and dotted with palms. Even the parking lot looked like it was newly striped, and the pavement was black with no oil stains.

Nice place
, Bob thought, inspecting his surroundings. On the way there, Bob had stopped by Circuit City and bought a small recorder, pens, and notebook so he could at least look the part of the writer. With that in hand, he made his way through the front doors to a beautiful receptionist.

“Hi, welcome to Care Ambulance Service. May I help you?” the receptionist said from behind the mahogany counter. She was blond and tan. When she talked, she showed gleaming white teeth. Bob thought she belonged in Hollywood rather than Miami.

“Yes, you may,” he said, smiling. “I’m Bob McKaren, a freelance journalist, and I’m doing a story on non-profit medical organizations. I’d like to include Care in the piece.”

“Wonderful,” she said gleefully. “Let me get you our public relations officer. Her name is Lauren Welch.”

“Great,” he said as the receptionist began dialing the number.

In a few moments, Bob could hear the click-clack of heels coming down the hall. Lauren Welch was an attractive brunette that stood a hair over five feet, with a classic public relations smile. When she reached Bob, she extended a hand whose nails were well manicured. Bob quickly stood and introduced himself.

“Hi, I’m Bob. I’m writing an article about—”

“Clara told me over the phone, Bob,” she said, interrupting forcefully. “I have about thirty minutes available to give you a tour and answer any questions you may have.”

“That’s sounds fair enough,” he said, returning a fake smile.

“Let’s get started with a tour. There’s not much, except for our twenty-four-hour call room and bookkeeping, but I believe it will give you a good idea of what we’re all about,” she said, turning and starting off. Bob had no choice but to follow.

“We’ll see what you’re all about,” he murmured under his breath.

Lauren turned her head.

“Excuse me?”

“I was just talking to myself. You know—mental notes.”

“Oh yes—I do that all the time,” she said with a laugh. “This is our call room. Blah, blah, blah. This is our data storage room.”

Bob noted the location of the room, thinking it could be useful in gathering evidence against Shark. When they reached her office, she asked Bob to sit down while she got coffee and made a few phone calls. Bob noticed there were no personal pictures on her desk—no husband or children—and she wore no wedding band.

“Um, all right,” Bob said, rubbing his chin. He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “Come on, Bob—concentrate. You don’t have time for love right now.”

“Talking to yourself again?” Lauren said, back with coffee sooner than he’d expected.

Bob sat up straight.

“Uh, oh, yeah—more mental notes.”

“I see,” she said. She placed a cup of coffee with creamer and sugar next to him and walked around her desk to sit down with her own cup.

“Thank you—I missed my cup this morning,” Bob said.

“No problem. We try to accommodate as best we can. Ask away,” she said.

Bob hadn’t thought about any questions except about the crash, and he knew he shouldn’t start with those, or he’d raise suspension.

“Okay, let’s see,” he said, flipping through the blank pages of his notebook. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

“That’s fine. Wouldn’t want you to mess up any quotes,” she said jokingly.

“Right. How long have you guys been in business?” he said finally.

She answered the question with precision, along with ten or fifteen others. Bob was proud of himself. He thought he actually sounded like a journalist. After the initial questions were finished, he knew time was getting short because Lauren was starting to look at the wall clock.